Autobiography of a Yogi
absent: I can discern at least this one regularity in my scholastic
career!
In India two successful years of college bring an Intermediate Arts
diploma; the student may then look forward to another two years
and his A.B. degree.
The Intermediate Arts final examinations loomed ominously ahead.
I fled to Puri, where my guru was spending a few weeks. Vaguely
hoping that he would sanction my nonappearance at the finals, I
related my embarrassing unpreparedness.
But Master smiled consolingly. “You have wholeheartedly pursued
your spiritual duties, and could not help neglecting your college
work. Apply yourself diligently to your books for the next week:
you shall get through your ordeal without failure.”
I returned to Calcutta, firmly suppressing all reasonable doubts
that occasionally arose with unnerving ridicule. Surveying the
mountain of books on my table, I felt like a traveler lost in a
wilderness. A long period of meditation brought me a labor-saving
inspiration. Opening each book at random, I studied only those
pages which lay thus exposed. Pursuing this course during eighteen
hours a day for a week, I considered myself entitled to advise all
succeeding generations on the art of cramming.
The following days in the examination halls were a justification
of my seemingly haphazard procedure. I passed all the tests, though
by a hairbreadth. The congratulations of my friends and family were
ludicrously mixed with ejaculations betraying their astonishment.
On his return from Puri, Sri Yukteswar gave me a pleasant surprise.
“Your Calcutta studies are now over. I will see that you pursue
your last two years of university work right here in Serampore.”
I was puzzled. “Sir, there is no Bachelor of Arts course in this
town.” Serampore College, the sole institution of higher learning,
offered only a two-year course in Intermediate Arts.
Master smiled mischievously. “I am too old to go about collecting
donations to establish an A.B. college for you. I guess I shall
have to arrange the matter through someone else.”
Two months later Professor Howells, president of Serampore College,
publicly announced that he had succeeded in raising sufficient
funds to offer a four-year course. Serampore College became a branch
affiliation of the University of Calcutta. I was one of the first
students to enroll in Serampore as an A.B. candidate.
“Guruji, how kind you are to me! I have been longing to leave
Calcutta and be near you every day in Serampore. Professor Howells
does not dream how much he owes to your silent help!”
Sri Yukteswar gazed at me with mock severity. “Now you won’t have
to spend so many hours on trains; what a lot of free time for your
studies! Perhaps you will become less of a last-minute crammer and
more of a scholar.” But somehow his tone lacked conviction.
{FN17-1} In 1936 I heard from a friend that Sasi was still in
excellent health.
CHAPTER: 18
A MOHAMMEDAN WONDER-WORKER
“Years ago, right in this very room you now occupy, a Mohammedan
wonder-worker performed four miracles before me!”
Sri Yukteswar made this surprising statement during his first visit
to my new quarters. Immediately after entering Serampore College,
I had taken a room in a near-by boardinghouse, called PANTHI. It
was an old-fashioned brick mansion, fronting the Ganges.
“Master, what a coincidence! Are these newly decorated walls really
ancient with memories?” I looked around my simply furnished room
with awakened interest.
“It is a long story.” My guru smiled reminiscently. “The name of
the FAKIR {FN18-1} was Afzal Khan. He had acquired his extraordinary
powers through a chance encounter with a Hindu yogi.
“‘Son, I am thirsty; fetch me some water.’ A dust-covered SANNYASI
made this request of Afzal one day during his early boyhood in a
small village of eastern Bengal.
“‘Master, I am a Mohammedan. How could you, a Hindu, accept a drink
from my hands?’
“‘Your truthfulness pleases me, my child. I do not observe
the ostracizing rules of ungodly sectarianism. Go; bring me water
quickly.’
“Afzal’s reverent obedience was rewarded by a loving glance from
the yogi.
“‘You possess good karma from former lives,’ he observed solemnly.
‘I am going to teach you a certain yoga method which will give you
command over one of the invisible realms. The great powers that
will be yours should be exercised for worthy ends; never employ
them selfishly! I perceive, alas! that you have brought over from
the past some seeds of destructive tendencies. Do not allow them
to sprout by watering them with fresh evil actions. The complexity
of your previous karma is such that you must use this life to
reconcile your yogic accomplishments with the highest humanitarian
goals.’
“After instructing the amazed boy in a complicated technique, the
master vanished.
“Afzal faithfully followed his yoga exercise for twenty years. His
miraculous feats began to attract widespread attention. It seems that
he was always accompanied by a disembodied spirit whom he called
‘Hazrat.’ This invisible entity was able to fulfill the FAKIR’S
slightest wish.
“Ignoring his master’s warning, Afzal began to misuse his powers.
Whatever object he touched and then replaced would soon disappear
without a trace. This disconcerting eventuality usually made the
Mohammedan an objectionable guest!
“He visited large jewelry stores in Calcutta from time to time,
representing himself as a possible purchaser. Any jewel he handled
would vanish shortly after he had left the shop.
“Afzal was often surrounded by several hundred students, attracted
by the hope of learning his secrets. The FAKIR occasionally invited
them to travel with him. At the railway station he would manage
to touch a roll of tickets. These he would return to the clerk,
remarking: ‘I have changed my mind, and won’t buy them now.’
But when he boarded the train with his retinue, Afzal would be in
possession of the required tickets. {FN18-2}
“These exploits created an indignant uproar; Bengali jewelers and
ticket-sellers were succumbing to nervous breakdowns! The police
who sought to arrest Afzal found themselves helpless; the FAKIR
could remove incriminating evidence merely by saying: ‘Hazrat, take
this away.’”
Sri Yukteswar rose from his seat and walked to the balcony of my
room which overlooked the Ganges. I followed him, eager to hear
more of the baffling Mohammedan Raffles.
“This PANTHI house formerly belonged to a friend of mine. He became
acquainted with Afzal and asked him here. My friend also invited
about twenty neighbors, including myself. I was only a youth then,
and felt a lively curiosity about the notorious FAKIR.” Master
laughed. “I took the precaution of not wearing anything valuable!
Afzal looked me over inquisitively, then remarked:
“‘You have powerful hands. Go downstairs to the garden; get a
smooth stone and write your name on it with chalk; then throw the
stone as far as possible into the Ganges.’
“I obeyed. As soon as the stone had vanished under distant waves,
the Mohammedan addressed me again:
“‘Fill a pot with Ganges water near the front of this house.’
“After I had returned with a vessel of water, the FAKIR cried,
‘Hazrat, put the stone in the pot!’
“The stone appeared at once. I pulled it from the vessel and found
my signature as legible as when I had written it.
“Babu, {FN18-3} one of my friends in the room, was wearing a heavy
antique gold watch and chain. The FAKIR examined them with ominous
admiration. Soon they were missing!
“‘Afzal, please return my prized heirloom!’ Babu was nearly in
tears.
“The Mohammedan was stoically silent for awhile, then said, ‘You
have five hundred rupees in an iron safe. Bring them to me, and I
will tell you where to locate your timepiece.’
“The distraught Babu left immediately for his home. He came back
shortly and handed Afzal the required sum.
“‘Go to the little bridge near your house,’ the FAKIR instructed
Babu. ‘Call on Hazrat to give you the watch and chain.’
“Babu rushed away. On his return, he was wearing a smile of relief
and no jewelry whatever.
“‘When I commanded Hazrat as directed,’ he announced, ‘my watch
came tumbling down from the air into my right hand! You may be sure
I locked the heirloom in my safe before rejoining the group here!’
“Babu’s friends, witnesses of the comicotragedy of the ransom for a
watch, were staring with resentment at Afzal. He now spoke placatingly.
“‘Please name any drink you want; Hazrat will produce it.’
“A number asked for milk, others for fruit juices. I was not too
much shocked when the unnerved Babu requested whisky! The Mohammedan
gave an order; the obliging Hazrat sent sealed containers sailing
down the air and thudding to the floor. Each man found his desired
beverage.
“The promise of the fourth spectacular feat of the day was doubtless
gratifying to our host: Afzal offered to supply an instantaneous
lunch!
“‘Let us order the most expensive dishes,’ Babu suggested gloomily.
‘I want an elaborate meal for my five hundred rupees! Everything
should be served on gold plates!’
“As soon as each man had expressed his preferences, the FAKIR addressed
himself to the inexhaustible Hazrat. A great rattle ensued; gold
platters filled with intricately-prepared curries, hot LUCHIS, and
many out-of-season fruits, landed from nowhere at our feet. All
the food was delicious. After feasting for an hour, we started to
leave the room. A tremendous noise, as though dishes were being
piled up, caused us to turn around. Lo! there was no sign of the
glittering plates or the remnants of the meal.”
“Guruji,” I interrupted, “if Afzal could easily secure such things
as gold dishes, why did he covet the property of others?”
“The FAKIR was not highly developed spiritually,” Sri Yukteswar
explained. “His mastery of a certain yoga technique gave him access
to an astral plane where any desire is immediately materialized.
Through the agency of an astral being, Hazrat, the Mohammedan could
summon the atoms of any object from etheric energy by an act of
powerful will. But such astrally-produced objects are structurally
evanescent; they cannot be long retained. Afzal still yearned for
worldly wealth which, though more hardly earned, has a more dependable
durability.”
I laughed. “It too sometimes vanishes most unaccountably!”
“Afzal was not a man of God-realization,” Master went on. “Miracles
of a permanent and beneficial nature are performed by true saints
because they have attuned themselves to the omnipotent Creator.
Afzal was merely an ordinary man with an extraordinary power of
penetrating a subtle realm not usually entered by mortals until
death.”
“I understand now, Guruji. The after-world appears to have some
charming features.”
Master agreed. “I never saw Afzal after that day, but a few years
later Babu came to my home to show me a newspaper account of the
Mohammedan’s public confession. From it I learned the facts I have
just told you about Afzal’s early initiation from a Hindu guru.”
The gist of the latter part of the published document, as recalled
by Sri Yukteswar, was as follows: “I, Afzal Khan, am writing these
words as an act of penance and as a warning to those who seek the
possession of miraculous powers. For years I have been misusing the
wondrous abilities imparted to me through the grace of God and my
master. I became drunk with egotism, feeling that I was beyond the
ordinary laws of morality. My day of reckoning finally arrived.
“Recently I met an old man on a road outside Calcutta. He limped
along painfully, carrying a shining object which looked like gold.
I addressed him with greed in my heart.
“‘I am Afzal Khan, the great FAKIR. What have you there?’